


Midnight Espresso

by bible



Category: JUDGE EYES: 死神の遺言 | Judgment, 龍が如く | Ryuu ga Gotoku | Yakuza (Video Games)
Genre: Come Eating, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Felching, Finger Sucking, Lingerie, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Riding, Rimming, Sick Character, Size Kink, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-08-10 19:03:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20140444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bible/pseuds/bible
Summary: Kaito straightens up, brushes off his shirt, and adjusts his collar. Putting on that wide, white-toothed smile of his once more, he begins again. “Sir, would you be interested in a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, where, for one night only, Stardust is a lingerie pub, and the babe of the night has a penchant for pretty boys who are weirdly into parkour? Free of charge!”“Kaito-san, I’m really not interested in contracting an STD tonight.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Finyb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finyb/gifts).

Sugiura has had a privileged life when it comes to avoiding barkers. They can’t harass you when you’re creeping along rain-and-grime slick rooftops in the dead of night, face covered in a shield of plastic. And they’re a lot less likely to usher you into their clubs in the daytime, when you’ve got your headphones in and you’re hurriedly walking along with your head down, eyes firmly on the street encased in potholes and cigarette butts. Most clubs aren’t open then, and you can swat them away with the excuse of, _I’m going to work, so fuck off, and eat my shit_.

Still, once in a blue moon, he’s experienced the sensations of being roped in at the entranceway, of flyers forced into your hand whether you like it or not, of being followed for almost a block by some rambling kid trying to pay off his college funds by touting tits and ass.

Nothing could have prepared him for being physically seized around the middle, though, and hoisted up with a great show of strength.

“Sir, would you be interested—”

Sugiura is sure it’s an assault at first, and his instinct has him driving his elbow into the chest of his assailant. It connects with a concerning cracking sound, the way it sounds when he orders soft shell crab and takes a bite. There’s a cough, a spray of spit on the back of his hair, and the barker’s arms loosen, dropping Sugiura back to his feet.

“Who the _fuck_ do you think you are, putting your fucking hands on me,” Sugiura snarls, but as he turns around with the intent to further pummel this aggressive, pushy idiot, he lowers his raised fists. Poor Kaito is clutching the front of his shirt, hunched over beneath the purplish neon of the _Stardust_ sign. He coughs up a glob of saliva that lingers on his bottom lip before it connects with his slacks.

“Guess I could have expected that,” he wheezes out.

“What are you doing? You’re a barker now? Is business _that_ bad?” He’s almost tempted to apologize, but his heartrate is still jack-rabbiting in his chest from anticipation.

“What are _you_ doing?”

“Going for a midnight espresso. What, I can’t walk around without being assaulted?!”

Kaito puts a hand on the wall and takes in a few gasping inhales. Sugiura’s sure he’s being dramatic, but he reaches out and pats his shoulder anyway. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you that hard,” he says, but he still feels some pride swell in him at his own ability. Kaito’s a big guy.

After he maintains some composure, he wheezes out, “You’re already makin’ it hard for me to treat you well tonight.”

Sugiura’s eyebrows hitch. “What?”

Kaito straightens up, brushes off his shirt, and adjusts his collar. Putting on that wide, white-toothed smile of his once more, he begins again. “Sir, would you be interested in a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, where, for one night only, _Stardust_ is a lingerie pub, and the babe of the night has a penchant for pretty boys who are weirdly into parkour? Free of charge!”

“Kaito-san, I’m really not interested in contracting an STD tonight.” _Did he call me pretty?_

Both of Kaito’s hands clap his shoulders, and he shakes him. Sugiura feels his fringe brush his forehead over and over like swipes of a feather. “We’ll get you coffee if you really want it! On the house! Just come in. It’s _free_!”

Sure, Sugiura knows Kaito would never actually put him in danger for profit. He knows Kaito’s obviously got some plan, owes someone a favor, or whatever. He knows he’s probably desperate for a customer, but can he really not hook anyone in besides Sugiura? And sure, it’s a _host_ club, but still, Sugiura’s not interested in being with just _any_ man. And he doesn’t want to play pretend for someone he isn’t attracted to. Even if he’s not paying to dote on some guy, _he’d_ rather be paid for faking it.

He’s not about to demand money out of an ex-yakuza who’s living paycheck to paycheck, though. It’s hard enough for guys like him to find work. Once you’re in the yakuza, you never really get rid of the stigma.

“Is this some game you’re playing? Do you owe someone a favor?”

“Sort of. Please, man—just do this for me.”

The vagueness _does_ peak his interest. Sugiura’s always liked mystery, and he’s always liked sticking his nose into gossip. It’s not like he does anything with it, he just likes being in the know, collecting information to hoard for future gain. And what else is he planning on doing tonight, anyway? Buying himself a coffee, staring at the wall, taking a shower, going to bed. It’s not nearly as exciting as the sound of some Eurobeat throbbing behind the walls of a club he’s never entered, and there’s a look in Kaito’s shiny eyes that’s just full of desperation. He’s got a soft spot for the guy.

So he sighs, rolls his eyes, even throws his head back and produces a long groan from the pale column of his thin neck. This show of exaggerated frustration doesn’t seem to quell Kaito’s neediness, though, and Sugiura can’t deny him a favor. Not after everything they’ve been through. And maybe his curiosity’s been peaked.

“F_iiiiiiiiii_ne.”

Before he can even think about his decision, Kaito’s picking him up, bridal style, and entering the humid air of the club that smells like cigarettes, too much cologne, and the sour acidity of alcohol. He cries out to the owner, “We got him!”

*

The coffee is cheap and powdered and bitter, and the music isn’t bad, but the red-faced, drunken salary-woman belting some karaoke into a host’s ear sure is. He can begin to feel a headache settle at his temples, and the caffeine does little to staunch it. Waiting in a booth, sat beside Kaito, whose leg won’t stop bouncing, he nurses the mug between his palms and tries to hide his face in the steam.

“What’s taking the host so long?” Sugiura whines. It’s not that he’s excited. He’d just like to get this over and done with.

“He was waiting for you. So he’s getting ready. He wasn’t going to bother to change if you didn’t happen to show up.”

“For _me_?” Couldn’t it just be anyone willing to deal with Kaito’s terrible advertising techniques? “So, somehow you knew I’d be walking by, and your buddy’s doing this exclusively for me. Something tells me you’ve been tracking me, mister private investigator.” Kaito doesn’t seem interested in extrapolating, though, so Sugiura just slurps his coffee, purposefully noisy as Kaito gives him an unreadable smile.

“So, what do you think?” Kaito says into his ear, “This your first time at a host club?”

“Yeah. For someone who lives in Kamurocho, I’ve never really wanted to _pay_ for sex.”

“It’s not a sex thing!” Kaito juts his elbow into his ribs.

“Doesn’t look that way to me,” Sugiura nods in the general direction of a booth where a woman kisses up and down an older host’s neck, as he smiles politely, hand working at… _something_ under the table.

“Well. Maybe it’s a sex thing. But you don’t _have_ to do anything like that. You just gotta, like, pal around with the host. Make him feel good.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Sugiura rolls his eyes and slouches deeper into his hoodie. “If I’m not paying him, what does he even get out of it? Are you trying to flatter the poor guy?” Some dread sinks through him. He wonders if Kaito’s just being the sweet dude he is, trying to buff up the confidence of a friend turned wannabe host that’s too ugly to be paid for. And now _he_ has to flatter him? Sugiura’s a good liar, but only out of necessity.

“Of course,” Kaito continues, arching his neck towards the dressing room door on the second level, right above the staircase, “If you _decide_ you wanna fuck him, by all means…”

He gives a curt shake of his head.

“I don’t think that’s in the cards today.”

“You might change your mind when you see him.”

“Please,” Sugiura snorts, “I’m not that desperate.”

Kaito seems about to retort, but when he hears the door click open (a miraculous feat, given the crooning of the salarywoman), he stands up quickly and rushes up to the doorway.

Sugiura looks, but the anticipatory fear that’s curdled in his stomach like spoiled milk turns into something else when it’s _Yagami_ that comes down the stairs, Kaito’s arm slung around his shoulders. Sugiura straightens up, eyes wide. He almost spills his coffee trying to set it down.

Yagami’s no stranger to wearing tight clothes, but even Sugiura—who has a crush on Yagami that’d rival any high school TV drama—couldn’t imagine him in something like _this_. He’s all baby pink lace and smooth skin, lean muscle encased in lingerie that’s definitely made for a slim woman but fits him better than it ever could anyone else.

Sugiura’s eyes travel to his crotch and he feels his face go warm as the coffee when he sees the near-translucent cloth cupped over his dick, the patch of his pubic hair looking way too erotic in a pair of panties that’s made to show off everything inside. His middle is encased in sheer cloth that ends over the jut of Yagami’s protruding hipbones. The stockings that end mid-thigh are the color of sakura petals. Yagami’s not wearing any shoes. His flat chest still looks soft and touchable in the baby doll set.

He looks away, like he’s just seen a private photo.

“Damn,” he whispers to himself.

“Aw, he’s shy,” Kaito jeers, and goes around the table so they can sit next to either side of him. Yagami doesn’t look ashamed, or shy, like Sugiura thought he might. He wears an easy, self-important expression, looking comfortable. Maybe Sugiura would be comfortable, too, if he could pull off women’s lingerie that well in public.

Yagami slides onto the leather beside him, the tall backs cushioning him as he slouches in his chair. He presses a thigh to Sugiura’s.

“You’re having coffee at a club?”

Sugiura fishmouths, trying to think of something to say. _What’s going on? Are you a host now? Did Kaito make you do this? Is this a joke? Are you making fun of me for liking you?_

Instead, he just says, “You’re look really pretty, Yagami-san.”

The color on his cheeks matches Yagami’s outfit.

Kaito makes a low, cooing noise. “Doesn’t he? I helped him choose it.”

“Are you working here now, or something?” he knew money was tight, but not _that_ tight. Yagami crosses his legs and Sugiura swallows as his throat goes dry.

“No. It’s just to say thank you, for everything,” Yagami admits, his strong shoulder shrugging. The strap is loose on it, and Sugiura wants desperately to hook a finger in it and pull it down. He squeezes his hands between his knees. “It’s okay, right? You’re comfortable with this?”

“Of course, I am. Kaito-san couldn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to. I just—are _you_?”

“Yeah, duh,” Yagami snickers, leaning impossibly closer and nosing at his cheekbone. Sugiura’s eyes widen in shock. “It was my idea.”

“But—you and Kaito—”

Kaito throws an arm around his shoulders, gathering him close. All seems forgiven for the attack on his sternum from earlier. “Don’t worry about it, kid. I’m good with it. Besides, I thought it’d be cute, seeing both of you together. Like I said, you ain’t gotta do anything you don’t wanna. Just thought I’d show off my boy to you.”

“Why in public?” Sugiura whispers, eyes still half-mast on Yagami’s profile which is still playfully pressed against Sugiura’s milky cheek.

“Like I said,” Kaito begins, “We didn’t wanna make you do anything you didn’t want to. If you decide to opt out, you can still spend some time drinking alcohol—or coffee, whatever—with your favorite local detective while he wears girl’s underwear. Like a real lingerie pub. Just strokes the fire, no commitment required.”

Sugiura shoots him a look. “If I’d known it was Yagami-san, of course I would’ve said yes.”

“Oh-ho. Look at that,” he leans over Sugiura’s lap and pinches Yagami’s cheek, shaking him, “You’re so popular.”

“You can’t blame him, can you?”

“What a fuckin’ narcissist.”

There’s more he wants to ask. How did Yagami manage to set this up with _Stardust_? Why the big presentation, the show of mystery? Why not let him know so he could prepare more? But as he looks at Kaito, so self-satisfied and smug, and Yagami, so beautiful and aromatic with some light, clean-smelling perfume, he feels really gracious and _happy_.

“Man, no one’s ever done something like this for me before,” Sugiura puts a hand on Yagami’s thigh, experimentally, and when he sees no sign of discomfort, he strokes up to Yagami’s hip. Thumbs at the lace striping over his waistline, leans in and gives him a soft, cautious kiss on the corner of his mouth.

There’s something thrilling about it all. Besides being kissed back, he gets the experience of Kaito watching with half-mast eyes, of a club occupied by all sorts of people possibly looking at them. And he feels a sense of pride in being with the best-looking and most capable two men in the vicinity.

It’s strange. Even though Yagami’s in revealing, feminine wear, he doesn’t lose a modicum of respect for him. If anything, Sugiura admires his self-assuredness more, and he snakes an arm around Yagami’s middle, kissing him desperately along those pursed, handsome lips. Yagami kisses back, tasting of artificial cherry and breath mints. Sugiura’s never kissed anyone wearing lipgloss before, and there’s a unique sluttiness in how slick it is that makes him shift, squeeze his legs together.

“Damn, Sugiura,” Kaito laughs, but his voice is raspy, not at all mocking. “You don’t even flirt with the host before you get right down to it, do you?”

Yagami pulls away and arches his neck as Sugiura begins to lap at his pulse, over the swell of his Adam’s apple. “I don’t think we need to get to know each other anymore than we already do.”

“You’re awfully confident today. What a whore.” Kaito grins, and beckons over a manager that might as well be a host, with his long hair and pretty face. “Get us a couple drinks, my man.”

*

What was supposed to be a playful, casual night, has turned pretty intense pretty quick. Kaito imagined there to be more trepidation, more soft petting and laughter and enough drinks to guarantee a pretty aching hangover before they _really_ got into it. He’s seen it go on like this with men. Where they’ve got to get really drunk before they can even lean in to give each other the slightest kisses, which are immediately pulled away from, accompanied by nervous smiles and darting eyes to survey a room that doesn’t give a shit about them. Then they pound another bottle of whiskey before they can start petting over each other’s bulges.

But he’s not complaining. Kaito’s an impatient man. He must have underestimated Sugiura’s affection—passion, really—for Yagami. And who can blame him? Yagami’s done so much for him. And looking the way he does is already enough to get anyone going. Pair that with some lingerie and a desperate twenty-something who’s harbored a crush on him for who knows how long, and it’s no surprise that they’ve been dragged into a locked “VIP” room only two drinks in and one sloppy make-out session later.

Kaito’s just surprised he’s been beckoned to join them.

He was planning on watching Yagami rail Sugiura, but he’s always been hands on, anyway.

“You know,” Kaito drawls, unbuckling his belt as he watches a naked Sugiura sprawl on the plush, velvet couch, Yagami kneeling between his spread legs, “This room’s probably owned and operated by Tojo boys.”

“Yeah?” Yagami asks, pushing back Sugiura’s thighs that are trembling and peach-colored to peer at his hole, “Good thing you’re here, then, so we can fit the part. Sugiura, you ever been fucked by a man in lingerie?”

Sugiura shakes his head, his shaggy hair falling over his low-lidded eyes. His hand is wrapped cutely, unmoving, around his hard cock. It’s blushing as much as his face, leaking a steady stream of pre-cum like a woman’s slit. He has his chin tucked onto his chest, near the dip where his collarbones meet. For someone who’s always been so casual and smooth, he looks as unexperienced as—

“I’m a virgin.”

Yeah, that.

Yagami sucks in a breath and looks at him with a cocked eyebrow. “No shit? Then we’ll have to open you up easy. Are you sure this is okay with you?”

Sugiura nods frantically, “I’ve never been more okay with anything in my entire life.”

Maybe a bit of exaggeration, maybe not. He scrolls his eyes over Yagami kneeling in thigh-high stockings, his firm chest cupped in cloth that makes his nipples look pinker than any girl’s, his lips swollen and parted. He’s like a bride.

A bride about to fuck him.

Sugiura looks over at Kaito and then tilts his chin back. “Come here.”

Kaito walks over and sits beside him. Sugiura leans in and experimentally places a hand on his chest, looks over his face. He’s so handsome, and easy-going, and big. Sugiura realizes, with a desperate throb of his entire being, that he wants both of them.

“You too. Fuck me too.”

Kaito raises his eyebrows, but he’s already pushing down the front of his slacks. “No complaints here.”

“At the same time.”

Yagami looks up from where he’s peppering his asshole with kisses, and says, “For real? You’re a virgin, though—”

“Please.”

Somehow it seems wrong. Taking the virginity of a desperate man in the cum-stained, VIP room that’s decorated in all tacky silk and velvet, with bug-killer bright LED light strips. But it doesn’t seem wrong enough when Sugiura sidles up onto Kaito’s lap, his back against his chest, coltish legs spread over those thicker thighs that are only half-hidden in slacks now. “Open him up, Ta-Bo.”

Yagami looks up at Sugiura with a low fan of his eyelashes and leans back down to suck at his hole. Kneeled in front of the couch, his mouth on Sugiura as he whimpers softly, as Kaito keeps him still with his arms around that thin waist, Yagami feels like a real caretaker. Especially when Sugiura’s legs wrap around his neck and pull him closer. He tastes clean, and then he goes lower, mouthing at Kaito’s cock, which is pressed up against Sugiura’s warm body, flush against that virginal hole that’s about to be absolutely wrecked.

The lingerie is soaked through with a wet patch.

As Yagami works on opening him up, as Kaito kisses the back of Sugiura’s neck, thrusting his fuck-hard dick up against whatever skin he feels magnetized to, Sugiura’s hand passes between his own legs to rub at his hole.

He’s _touching_ himself as Yagami’s fucking eating him out. It gets Yagami way too hard way too soon, and he pulls down the front of his panties to let his cock out of the barely restraining confines. It slaps against his tight abdomen, and he jerks it—too rough without lube, but he doesn’t care.

“That’s it,” Yagami coos, cupping his cheek, “Finger yourself. Have you done it before? Gotten your own fingers in that cute virgin-tight hole?”

Sugiura nods frantically, and Kaito moves his chin to avoid being clipped by the back of his skull. He drops it onto Sugiura’s shoulder and watches as Yagami slicks his dick up with a bottle of lube that’s half-empty and probably groped by way too many needy, sweaty hands before him.

“Kaito-san,” Yagami says, and Kaito doesn’t need any further instruction. With great effort, he manages to push aside Sugiura for only a moment, just enough to allow Yagami to spill the fluid lazily over his throbbing cock, huge and wet and dark from arousal. Then Sugiura is quickly pulled back into his lap.

“Kaito’s going to fuck you now,” Yagami says, voice steady and calm, “He’s going to open up your pretty hole.”

Sugiura removes his hand, which has barely eased up his virgin-clutch insides and he holds his own thighs back obediently. He maintains hazy eye contact with Yagami, his brows worried and lip bit, but his mouth falls open at the slide of Kaito’s hefty cock inside of him. He lets out a sob.

Kaito’s big. It’s got to hurt. It certainly ached for Yagami, the first time, and Yagami wasn’t a stranger to being dicked before then. But Sugiura has always been impressive in every matter, from ability to his very beauty, to his eloquence, and he just relaxes, breathes out, that tight rim clutching up so well around Kaito’s pushing cock. Yagami jerks off lazily, watching Kaito spearhead through that baby-pink hole.

“Such a good boy,” Yagami praises, moving forward to kiss at Sugiura, let him taste himself on Yagami’s mouth. “Look at you, just swallowing up that cock like you’re meant for it. Does it feel good? Kaito-san’s big, huh?”

“_Hahh_…” Sugiura nods, open-mouthed against Yagami’s whispering, heated breath. He licks at his teeth lazily but then his head falls back as Kaito bottoms out. He feels so _stuffed_—and it hurts—but he doesn’t care. Every inch inside of him is alight with over-sensitization. A strange thought comes over him, one where he’s open and waiting for Yagami at every moment. He wants the tight band of his hole softened. Wants to be ready and willing and easy. Anything for Yagami. “I wanna be… loose for you, Yagami-san.”

Yagami sucks in a sharp breath. “Loose for _me_. Fuck.”

Sugiura’s never going to feel the same again on the inside, that hot-tight center used thoroughly by his two favorites. The thought has his own chubbed-up candy dick jutting out another streak of pre-cum, and for a second, he thinks it’s an early orgasm. Kaito’s thick inside him, pressed up against a spot that has Sugiura’s legs twitching. It feels like it’s too much, like he’s on the edge of something. His toes curl.

“Yagami, you better get inside him before I get off without you,” Kaito huffs, brow sweat-streaked and concentrated. He’s doing all he can not to thrust inside that virginal furnace. He’s burning up inside, feverish, and Sugiura just grinds down and huffs patiently like such a good boy. Being swallowed up by that tight, wet heat, which has been kissed around by his partner—it’s a lot to think about and Kaito doesn’t want to short-circuit before he gets his jizz in Sugiura’s hole and spread on Yagami’s cock.

Yagami holds onto his knees, places his dick at the impossible non-space where Kaito’s dick meets Sugiura’s tight rim, and he pushes slowly, as carefully as he can, trying not to hurt him. His dick catches at his hole a few times, but he eventually works his way into a slight gape Kaito’s stretched for him. Then Sugiura’s hands fall over his own asshole, and he pries it open, fingers tugging that sweet cunt. The gape gives way for the curved cock that Sugiura needs inside him, and finally, the head pushes up against Kaito’s shaft and into the warmth only a virgin has. Yagami’s dick enters almost too easily.

“Holy _shit_,” Yagami’s breathless, and that slim, powerful thigh tucks up against the couch for leverage as he bottoms out way too quick, relishing in the heat that Sugiura’s got inside him. Sugiura’s needy, whimpering, and his hands let himself go so he can cling to Yagami like his survival depends on it. His face ducks into his sweaty neck, and he gasps open-mouthed but bafflingly quiet. Yagami’s heart thuds against his frame in time with the throbbing, sleazy club music muffled behind the thick walls.

“Shit, what a good boy,” Kaito keens, and now he’s working his hips, lazy upward thrusts that jostles the both of them, makes Yagami cry out more than Sugiura does, who’s doing such a good job at holding onto Yagami quietly, concentrating on what isn’t pain. “He doesn’t bitch like a dying cat, like you do.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Yagami says with no real vitriol. He pulls out, the drag of his cock against Kaito’s breathtakingly slick and hot. It’s familiar—like they’re frotting—and unfamiliar at once. Jerking off against Kaito’s dick is nothing new, but doing it inside a pretty boy’s ass is something different altogether.

Aching aside, Sugiura’s never felt so fulfilled and slutty in his life, and it’s a new, good feeling. He can’t believe he almost missed out on this, can’t believe he almost didn’t allow himself to sprawl over a yakuza with a big dick jammed up his ass and his lingerie-clad partner groping at the soft flesh of his white thighs. The soreness is beginning to fade into something warm and buzzing and sweet, the way an initially painful massage turns into relief. Their thrusts are uncoordinated, brutal, but he likes it. He likes being pinned between them, likes being used by their dicks, their wet cockheads sliding against each other. Sugiura’s always done everything to the extreme, so why should sex be any different?

Sugiura pries himself from Yagami’s sweaty chest and finally emits another sob, louder this time, when they both thrust in at once. Having two cocks in him is enough—having two cocks press against his prostate has him crying. It’s not out of pain.

Kaito looks concernedly at that teary, too-smooth profile, and he leans up to kiss at the fat tear track falling over the swell of his cheek. “You okay?”

“Uh-huh. I just—need to fucking _last_, damn it,” he says, and his hand goes to strangle the base of his cock that’s dribbling slick, staving off an orgasm. But his hand is batted away by Yagami, who takes it upon himself to grab at his balls and stroke his sack lazily.

The other hand goes to his chin, and a long middle finger slides melted-butter-smooth past Sugiura’s plump lips. He nurses his hand like he’s worshiping it, and he really is. The tight veins on the back of Yagami’s hand stand stark and his skin tastes like perfume smells, floral and elegant, maybe like rosewater. Yagami really dolled up for him. A stab of worship goes through him as he makes lazy, wet eye-contact, still leaking tears like a pair of cut fruit.

Yagami keeps stroking his balls, keeps thrusting his hand and cock into him like he’s a toy, like he can just milk the cum right out of him. And he can. Sugiura’s on the precipice of cumming all over himself, and then, even though it’s Yagami who’s got his full attention, it’s Kaito that finishes him off.

Those hot, dry lips kiss right on the edge of his ear, and a tongue passes over the shell of it. Kaito whispers, “Feels like we’re already junkies for you.”

It’s an odd statement, but it wrenches out a punched-out, gut-fucked noise from Sugiura, and his cock is spurting out milky streams of cum, landing over his trembling stomach, over Yagami’s thin wrist corded with muscle. He gasps lewdly around Yagami’s spit-wet middle finger and closes his eyes. Hiccups a little sob that’s too soft, too innocent to be induced from being stuffed with two fat dicks.

Then he just relaxes back, sweaty and sensitive, and lets them use him. He winds one arm around Kaito’s neck, the other around Yagami’s middle, and holds onto them. His eyes are closed, brow worked together like he’s memorizing every detail.

“Too much,” Sugiura offers nonchalantly, his hole twitching around them with every batter of his insides, with every slide inward that he wants to milk and keep inside forever.

“Need us to slow down?” Yagami purrs. Sugiura wrenches one eye open and frowns.

“Fuck no.”

Kaito doesn’t join in on the hardly-a-conversation, lost in working out his orgasm, battering Sugiura’s hole like he’s never had anything on his dick in his life, and he cums with a low groan, snarling almost dog-like against the sweaty juncture of his shoulder blade that he ducks his face into. Sugiura can’t feel the cum inside of him, but Yagami can—can feel it smearing onto his cock. Kaito’s thrusts slow until he’s still, remaining tucked inside Sugiura which he’s pretty sure is meant to be in their bed twenty-four-fucking-seven from now on.

Yagami’s the only one left, still looking composed and self-controlled and adorable. His top’s strap has indeed slid down the smooth curve of his shoulder, his hair is sweat-damp and falls in his face, and his mouth is parted just slightly. But he works into Sugiura hard, consistent, and Kaito’s tender cock twitches lazily against his shaft.

“Kiss me,” Sugiura whines, reaching up.

And Yagami does. As soon as he leans down to seize that modelesque face between his palms, and slide their lips together, he cums inside him. He barely makes a noise of indication, but Kaito does for him, hissing out, “Holy _shit_, Ta-Bo.”

They stay still for a while, Sugiura keeping both of them inside his hole, clutching them as his heartrate stutters.

“How do you feel?” Yagami asks this time.

“Feel good—owned,” he laughs breathily, reaching down to pass his fingers through the cum splattering his chest.

“Us too,” Kaito provides. Sugiura turns to kiss him, too, and grins a little. Kaito’s face is as red as a drunken salarywoman’s.


	2. Chapter 2

“He’s really sick.”

“Totally. Rad as hell, dude. Parkour.”

“Ta-Bo, shut the fuck up,” Kaito mutters, phone balanced between his shoulder and ear, but he’s stifling a laugh as he sits beside Sugiura who’s sprawled—somewhat melodramatically—on the sofa. He had come over just a few minutes ago, with the intention to help out with Yagami’s next investigation, but when Kaito had a good look at him, he’d set him down and told him there was _absolutely no way_ he was going out. It’s a paternal command, but he’s always been the caretaker type, deep down. Yagami and Higashi would know.

Sugiura’s fringe is damp like it’s been raining, but his hair is actually soaked with sweat, darkening the dye from amber to a deeper, richer brown. It’s cold but humid outside, that kind of wet, late wintertime where the city traps in the breath of crowds, the smoke of restaurants, the steam of saunas pluming out of overhead vents. The combination of germs and cold fester this time of year, and Sugiura’s seemed to bear the brunt of it. He has high, pink spots on his cheeks that radiate heat, and his eyes are glassy as if with the film that grows over a still body of water. Trying but failing to obscure the shivers wracking his shoulders, Sugiura had said, in a voice fried and swollen, that he was _fine_.

“He’s got a hell of a fever.”

“Well, take care of him, then. It’s just an infidelity case, I can handle it on my own.”

Kaito pulls Sugiura’s legs onto his lap and begins untying his generic, off-brand Converse. Sugiura plants his foot on the side of Kaito’s cheek without much force before he can wrench off his shoe, and Kaito’s lip curls. He seizes him by the ankle to keep him still. “I’m _fine_!”

“He probably didn’t even come by to help with the case, you know,” Yagami says with a hint of humor, voice stuttering from poor connection over the phone. Kaito can picture his playful smirk, “Besides, I’m already out. He’s a little late.”

“You think he came by to…?” Kaito looks at Sugiura and watches him scowl from the assumption. Kaito narrowly avoids another kick.

“I mean, of course. Like I needed help with an _infidelity_ _case_. It’s cute, right? He likes us a lot.”

“Can’t say I blame him.”

“Hey,” there’s the sound of shifting, and then footsteps, light, and Yagami’s voice goes low. “I gotta go. Take care of him, will you?”

“He’s asking for you.”

“I’m working, Kaito-san. Just—you know… Satisfy him, if you can.”

“You’re okay with it?” Kaito looks at Sugiura, whose eyes have closed, his lips parted. He’s breathing hot, short inhales through his parted lips that are chapped and red. Kaito assumes his nose is too clogged to breathe through.

“Of course, I am. …Send me pictures if you can. Only if he wants it, though. I gotta go. See you, Kaito-san.”

“Bye, Ta-Bo.”

He knows it’s not a big deal. Yagami and Kaito’s relationship is a nebulous one, without label but with a large dose of codependency. But they’re not necessarily monogamous, even if they’re pretty much attached at the hip. Kaito hasn’t gone down on one knee or anything. Sugiura’s been stopping by more and more, ever since Yagami’s little lingerie pub idea, and neither of them have managed to tack a name to whatever the fuck the three of them ‘are.’ It’s not something Kaito cares to think about. Above all things, he cares about Yagami’s feelings—and so the buck stops with him. Yagami’s comfort and word are law. He’s glad he’s okay with it, though, because Sugiura’s a good lay.

And a good friend, too, don’t get him _wrong_.

“You want me to get you some medicine, man?” Kaito says, voice taking on that tender, low note that’s so comforting, even with that typical yakuza growl backing every word.

Sugiura sits up with far too much energy for the soreness that’s _surely_ making every limb stiff. He sniffs—it’s an unpleasantly wet sound, mucus rattling in his nostrils. “No, I said I was fine. What did Yagami say?”

“He’s already in the middle of the investigation, Sugiura. But, uh… he appreciates your help, ‘n all that.”

“So I can’t see him?” Kaito almost detects a pout coupled with the disappointment lacing his voice. Or maybe that’s just phlegm.

“Maybe later. Look, Sugiura, you look like death warmed over. You need to rest.”

“I’m not tired. Can we just hang out, or something?”

There it is. That upturned, faux-shy little look when Sugiura wants something. Peering through his bangs, those perpetually arched brows soften a bit, face going more relaxed. Kaito knows that look, knows it’s a prelude to Sugiura crawling onto one of their laps and begging for it with shiny pupils that glitter like a hostess’s dress.

“You’re too sick,” Kaito decides, crossing his arms over his ample chest as if to get Sugiura to stop checking out his cleavage, like he’s some girl or something.

“That’s not what I was asking for!” Sugiura huffs, scratching at his cheek. It’s all peach fuzz, but his face is a grown man’s. Mature, but slightly feminine. It’s nice, Kaito thinks—he looks pretty angelic, even when he’s got a glob of mucus hovering beneath his nostril.

Kaito reaches out and smears his hand over his nose, making Yagami whine and jerk his head back.

“Then what _are_ you asking for?”

“Let’s—go shopping or something.” It’s an odd save from Sugiura, but he still seems a little on edge about asking for it outright. Not that Kaito will mock him for it. He’s not a dick.

“…Really. _You’re_ in the mood to go shopping?” Sugiura doesn’t seem too concerned about style, not like he does, at least. But Kaito is always one for spending exorbitant amounts of yen on the gaudy and the shiny. Anything that sparkles makes him happy. Like Sugiura’s spit-wet lips. Besides, getting Sugiura into something other than his worn-out hoodies and dark pants is an exciting prospect. He remembers when he brought Higashi out to try on colorful, pastel suits instead of his safe, grey salaryman one. Yagami’s never so willing with letting Kaito dress him, because Yagami insists that he doesn’t want to look like a member of occupied crime. Whatever, his loss. “Well, I’m fine with it. Come on, tie your shoe.”

Sugiura huffs out a choked sound and pulls his hood up, sulking. He seems to already regret his decision, but he’s too stubborn to back out of it now.

Kaito smirks. “Our first date, huh? Good thing I like playin’ dress-up.”

*

“I’m going to kill you.”

“You look so _cute_, Sugiura-kun!” Kaito gushes, his hands flying to his own cheeks to gasp at him. Like Sugiura’s fever, he’s also burning up—just with adoration. Corny, maybe, but—_well_...

This is almost as fun as dressing Yagami in lingerie, the other night. Sugiura frowns and tries to back away into the dressing room, but Kaito reaches out and seizes him by his waist, dragging him out and into view of the mirror. “No, let me see.”

Sugiura fidgets as he’s forced to look at himself, wearing an iridescent, wine-colored suit over a golden button-up that screams ‘I have a lot of money but have no idea how to spend it.’ It reminds him of that Kengo dude holed up at the Matsugane Family office, always in feminine, soft colors made vicious and frenzied when placed over the body of a violent and capable young yakuza. It probably costs a lot to look that gaudy.

Sugiura sneezes.

He looks like a disco ball.

“I’m not buying it.”

“Come on, man, you wanted to go shopping, didn’t you?”

Sugiura coughs into the arm of that too-expensive and too-tacky shirt, earning a glare from the passing sales associate. “I want to get something else.”

“Tell me.”

Sugiura gives him a smirk, all mischief, even though the rest of his face looks drawn, tired.

“You’ll see. Let’s go to Don Quixote.”

Kaito sighs. Whatever—Sugiura’s not fit to dress like a yakuza anyway. He looks too soft-featured in the suit, making him look like a cross between both a try-hard delinquent and try-hard host. He nods and gestures back into the dressing room.

When Sugiura is back in his comfortable and form-hiding clothes, they make their way to Don Quixote. Most of the crowds they pass wear face masks to prevent disease, and Kaito tries not to get too close to anyone. He doesn’t want to get sick as well. The air has the quality of boiling water poured onto a frozen body of water, somehow both dry and densely claustrophobic at once. An ice cube held too close to your body. Kaito wants to be away from the crowds.

Still, when Sugiura leans his head on Kaito’s shoulder in the check-out line of the open-walled convenience store, he doesn’t push him away.

They buy throat numbing spray and a rope.

The cashier’s eyes meet Sugiura’s for a moment, and a little smirk comes over her mouth.

As they exit and head back in the direction of the detective office, a neon sign slashes yellow and pink wounds of light onto Sugiura’s face, casting him in this chemical glow that smooths out whatever sickness was making him look sallow, jaundiced. He looks ethereal in that flashing sign for a pharmacy—_DRUGS! DRUGS! DRUGS!_—like some Kamurocho angel.

He looks even better than he did in the suit.

*

“This’ll help me suck you off, right?”

Kaito blinks owlishly over the kettle he’s set on the stove top. He turns around so fast that he almost gives himself whiplash.

“Are you _insane_? You want to suck a dick when you have the flu?”

Sugiura grins, setting the bottle of throat-numbing spray down on the coffee table. His own mouth now tastes like citrus, medicinal, acidic, but it slowly begins to taste of nothing. There’s that soothing, tingling coating that makes it more bearable to swallow down the spit-mucus he’s collecting at the top of his mouth.

“I bet it’d make me feel better than the tea.”

Kaito laughs—more of a surprised, coughing noise than anything—and shakes his head, wide-eyed. “Sugiura, you’re something else.”

He brings him a mug—a souvenir Yagami got from some trip to Okinawa that’s patterned with tropical flowers—and pours the tea into it. Sugiura snatches it by the handle and swallows as it’s still steaming and freshly brewed, the teabag barely steeped, surely searing his tongue, his throat working as he tosses it back like he’s taking a shot. When he sets it down, he leans back and says, “See? Throat’s working fine.”

He can’t say he isn’t impressed by his stubbornness. It’s not like Kaito doesn’t want a blowjob—he doesn’t think there’s _any_ moment in time where he couldn’t go for a blowjob—but he doesn’t want Sugiura to throw up or feel worse. He doesn’t want to irritate the raw tissue in his throat and make him lose his voice even more. But instead of displaying this tenderness, he just says, “What if my dick gets the flu?”

“That’s not how that works.”

“Sure, it is. I took science.”

Sugiura rolls his eyes and curls up on the sofa. This time, he pulls off his own sneakers and then looks at the rope. It’s a neat, soft, and technically useless coil of yarn. Not functional enough to be anything but a prop or a sex object. He doubts it could be used for pulling, climbing, or lifting. Don Quixote surely doesn’t want to be responsible for any hangings or actual productivity, now.

That said, it’ll make for less agitation against his skin.

“What’s that for, then?”

Kaito approaches and unfurls it from its coil.

“Last time you left claw marks on my back. I had to disinfect it.”

Sugiura produces a tired, weak-sounding laugh. He’s since clipped his nails, but he’s not about to protest being tied up and rawed by someone as big and adorable as Kaito-san.

“_Oh_. Yagami won’t be upset if we start without him?”

“Nah, he encourages it. He probably won’t be back until later. We’ll send him a picture.”

“So you’ll trade the nail marks for rope burn?”

“Yeah. It’s a fair trade-off, isn’t it?”

Sugiura already eagerly begins to peel off his hoodie.

*

It isn’t that Sugiura’s a nymphomaniac, necessarily. It’s not _all_ he thinks about, and he isn’t seeking it from just anyone at any time. It’s just that—ever since Kaito and Yagami got both of their dicks in him at once and stripped him of his virginity—he’s been a lot more _fascinated_ by the prospect of sex than he had before. It’s a new thing for him, even if he’s indulged in his fair share of porn. It’s sort of set off a different pattern in his behavior, where he _does_ think about his own body in a new context, where he allows himself to commit to hedonism in some measure. In a place like Kamurocho, where sex sells in every joint, where people pay just to _talk_ to seemingly horny women or use paycheck after paycheck on peep shows and cabaret clubs, he’s always been an anomaly. He was there to achieve some sense of recompense, and to give himself purpose in the wake of Emi’s death. (There’s some legendary guy he’s heard about, some Kamurocho god among men, an ex-yakuza, who was apparently a virgin his whole life. He can’t help but respect that irony.)

Ever since that relative peace has been achieved, though, he’s been allowed to think of himself and his own needs. Never the indulgent type, Sugiura’s self-moderation and self-regulation has fizzled into something sort of innocently curious but decadent enough to be extremely, extremely attractive to Kaito. As Kaito ties his body up with his unskilled and unartistic but tender hands, he kisses right above where he wraps the length of rope. He really _is_ burning up, his flesh tinged reddish and heated beneath Kaito’s wet lips. It’s more than arousal, although that’s _certainly_ present in the straining cock between the juncture of Sugiura’s thighs.

“Are you sure you’re feeling well enough?”

Sugiura nods, lifting his leg to allow Kaito to wrap his calf and thigh with the length of rope. They’re tucked together now, giving him the impression that he’s kneeling of his own accord. He tests his restraints and finds that he could easily break out of them. Still, they squeeze the flesh of his thighs in a pleasant way, indenting the skin just slightly. It makes him look softer than he is, like he isn’t strung with capability and muscle.

That’s calming. Ever since the incident at Monsieur Lee, Sugiura assumed he wouldn’t be into the prospect of being restrained. But it’s Kaito who’s with him and relinquishing all control to him is a comforting concept. Even so, he’s glad to know he could get out of the ropes anytime he wants to.

Kaito stands back and surveys his work. With his arms crossed against the small of his back, and his thighs pressed up beneath his calves, spread to give Kaito access to both his half-hard erection and his smooth asshole, Sugiura is probably the best-looking influenza carrier in the city.

“Alright,” Kaito gives that movie star grin, all wide and genuine and kind and eager, and he kneels in front of Yagami’s sofa. The coffee table’s been moved out of the way to give them as much access as they can get. There’s not much room in the office as it is, but they’ll manage. “Then let’s start opening you up.”

Pushing Sugiura to sit back on his tailbone, his knees resting against his chest, Kaito leans down and parts Sugiura’s asscheeks with his palms. Sugiura’s a lanky guy, and normally when his legs wrap around his or Yagami’s neck, Kaito feels weighted down and nearly strangled. Sugiura doesn’t know his own strength, it seems. But with him restrained, he has easy access, without the pressure of, like—

Potentially dying with his face in Sugiura’s ass.

Although, it’s not necessarily the _worst_ way to go.

He preps him with the tenderness of a first night make out session. He kisses his hole slow, pleasantly, as if it’s his mouth. They’ve had nights like that, too, where Sugiura and Kaito and Yagami will spend a long time in Sugiura’s bed, kissing each other back and forth, without doing much else. It seems like it’d be a waste of time, but more often than not Kaito likes those days of swollen-mouthed kissing just as much as bending Sugiura over a bed and sticking it in him.

Treating his asshole with the same delicacy seems to pay off, given Sugiura’s moans. Unsure of whether it’s from the cold or from the sensation of a slow, mouthy rimjob, Kaito relishes in it anyway. It’s a soft, whiny sound, desperate and oversensitive. It goes straight to Kaito’s dick.

“_Ahn_,” he seems to whine, his voice pitching up on the consonant at the end, as it catches in his swollen throat, “Feels good, Kaito-san.”

Kaito seals his lips around the furl of his asshole and sucks, then grins whenever Sugiura lets out a long wheedle of a sound and shudders. He can’t kick or anything, but he sees his thigh twinge beneath the rope. After lapping over his hole a few more times, until the pink spot of flesh is twitching, eager for more, he kisses up his glans, over his now fully hard erection, and maps his lips over the veins.

Like in a bad JAV film, Kaito makes a show of slurping noisily on his dick, trying to make the wettest, lewdest sounds possible around his cock. It’s viscous, a little gross in how _drenched_ it sounds like his mouth is. But the performance of it all really gets to Kaito—there’s something about putting on a show, sensationalizing Sugiura’s cock like it’s enough to make him show off like an unpaid porn star—that has him unzipping his slacks.

After tonguing the slit of his cock with messy, jabbing little licks, he stands up and begins undressing. As he does, slipping silk down his biceps and heavily cottoned slacks down his legs, he looks at Sugiura. He seems _blissed out_.

His chest is heaving with deep, heavy inhales, which might be difficult for him to take given the cold. But the skin of it is shiny with a honeyed glow and fever sweat, carnation-pink nipples sitting puffy on his flat but well-defined body. His eyes are half-mast, glazed over and dreamy, and his lips are parted.

Kaito doesn’t know if he wants to get him a glass of orange juice or fuck him five ways to midnight.

With one hand on his dick, without spit or lube, and the other on Sugiura’s chin, he begins to jack himself off. Sugiura stares up with near reverence in his eyes, his breath blistering hot as it fans over Kaito’s knuckles. Whatever cold was stiffening them from outside quickly melts away as he plunges two fingers into Sugiura’s mouth. They rest over the wet muscle of his tongue, slicking through his spit. Sugiura’s beyond satisfied, if the heavenly moan, the immediate sucking, and the flutter of his long-lashed eyes falling closed are anything to go by.

He suckles them for a while, his shoulders relaxing marginally. Kaito can hear the cloth-y sounding scrape of the rope against Yagami’s leather couch and hopes he isn’t scuffing anything. But that single, practical thought is fleeting, because Sugiura begins lapping at the tips of his fingers like he’s some cat given cream.

Kaito squeezes his own erection, eschewing out an impressive string of precum.

He’s a humble guy, but… Sugiura’s delicate, spidery hand can’t fit fully around it when he’s fully torqued. He pulls his hand from between those confectionary-sweet lips. They come out with a _pop_.

Shaking himself a little, he walks to Yagami’s desk and easily finds the nearly empty bottle of lube. _Too bad we didn’t pick up more at Don Quixote_, he thinks, as he pours some into his palm. The combination of his precum and the lube are nice, slicking him up and making him as sensitive as he was the first time that he figured out he could use lotion to jack off and not the dry flat of his palm.

Even so, bringing those two, spit-wet fingers to swirl around the flushed, aching head of his cock—

_Sugiura’s spit would be a much better lubricant_, he thinks.

As he approaches him once more, he’s momentarily worried. Sugiura’s virginity was taken not just by his own cock, but by the combination of his and Yagami’s. It’s a pretty hardcore and intense width to challenge, and he thinks he might not be enough to satisfy Sugiura on his own. It’s always the both of them sticking it in Sugiura, never just Yagami or himself.

“You still a size queen? I’m worried I won’t be enough for you.”

Sugiura sniffs, and then furrows his eyebrows. He tosses his fringe aside just to make sure Kaito can see the disbelief. “Are you kidding? That thing in your hand is a monster.”

Kaito kneels in front of him once more, the rug beneath his legs sort of unpleasant. Scratchy.

He lubricates a finger and pushes at the tight ring of muscle. Sugiura’s body is box-heater warm on the inside and it swallows his finger up like it’s got a mind of its own. God, he’s gonna feel good on his cock.

“Don’t gotta flatter me. But I know. Just thought, since you’re accustomed to double, that—”

“Fuck no. I want that big dick in me. It’s more than enough.”

“Yeah? What a slut you’ve become. It’s cute.”

Sugiura nods, almost too enthusiastically. He shifts in his restraints as Kaito slips another finger in, his lips parting. A string of spit attaches them.

“I think about your dick a lot, you know,” he tells him, voice soft and worn like an old radio. “I think about how warm and comforting it is. Um—this is kind of embarrassing, but I have this… fantasy… where you shove it in me when we’re going to bed at night… and I keep it warm in—inside me all night. It’s pretty unrealistic, though.”

For how “embarrassing” he’s acting like it is, Sugiura’s cock jumps of its own volition and dribbles out precum onto his belly, and he doesn’t break that intense, perpetually smug eye contact.

“Yeah?” Kaito’s own dick is giving a _throb-throb_ of approval in his palm that’s sweating about as much as Sugiura’s forehead. He pulls his fingers out, thinks he’s given enough prep, and rubs around the base. God, it’s like that asshole’s giving the velvety head a _kiss_. “You wanna be my little cock sleeve?”

“_Ah_\--! Yeah!” Sugiura seems to like the terminology, if the way he licks his teeth is anything to go by.

Suddenly, Kaito flops down beside him on the couch, like he’s worn out and done for the day. Sugiura is about to complain, when those strong arms seize him from around the waist and drag him onto his lap. Facing Kaito, he’s forced to straddle him, given the condition his legs are in. He hiccups out a moan of surprise when he’s settled atop Kaito’s aching erection, which rubs between his cheeks lewdly. He feels the heat of it, that perverted pushing insistence, and he momentarily entertains the thought of Kaito rubbing up against him in public.

God, there’s so much he wants to do with him.

“Gonna make _you_ work for it, then, little whore,” Kaito growls.

Pushing into Sugiura takes on the quality of a dream. Kaito’s always so invested in his performance, in the way Yagami and Sugiura feel, always the caretaking type. But for some reason, right now, pulling a limb-restrained and needy Sugiura onto the fat curve of his cock, his head feels light, wistful. The weight over his legs feels comfortable, the way it does when Yagami sidles up into his lap with clingy hands. His cock shudders out a glob of wet precum into Sugiura’s twitching rectum, and the view of Sugiura’s ecstatic expression—tongue resting on the bottom row of his cute, slightly-crooked teeth—is all slow-motion. He has this face that looks like he’s on the precipice of a pleasant sleep, and he takes his cock like some floating soap bubble slowly descending through a dawn-time sky. Real girly and pretty, you know?

It slides through his insides, juts up into that heat and rests against his prostate.

“_Ahh_—oh, _fuck_—Kaito-san! Jesus! You’re in me—you’re in my guts—I…” he trails off and moves his hips experimentally. Filling him out in all the right spots, his cock feels just as good alone as it does alongside Yagami’s. Even though the image of their dicks frotting together inside him is infinitely attractive, the idea of his needy, warm insides clutching up against that hard cock is also impossibly lewd.

For Kaito’s part, it’s different than being inside Yagami, somehow. Sugiura is tighter, still less experienced, and he’s less of a participant. He’s a bit of a pillow princess, always letting Yagami and Kaito bear the brunt of the work.

Time to change that.

Kaito slaps his thigh, roughly, and barks out, “Ride me. Move that tight little ass.”

It’s big. If he looks down, Sugiura can see the outline of his cock inside him, pressed against his flat stomach just slightly.

“Oh my god,” he pants, “Look. I can see you pushing inside me…”

It takes some effort, given that he’s tied up, but after a few experimental shifts of his hips—the cock dragging inside him slow and slick and all-encompassing—he gets the hang of it. He has to move his hips more than his thighs, and the rope has been tied loosely enough around his legs to give him some amount of leeway as he works his ass on Kaito’s dick.

Buried deep in his ass, the length of his cock so impressive, Kaito manages to hit his prostate easily. And with Sugiura controlling everything, he can work his sweet spot over and over again. Hedonistic as he can be. He doesn’t even bother to pace himself. Like indulging in a variety of treats. It’s weird, each image of some dessert in his head in accordance with every pound of his prostate. Dango, a parfait, ice cream, a crepe. Maybe he’s taking the term ‘sweet spot’ literally. Maybe he’s still too innocent to compare sex to anything other than his own experiences in things like food.

Either way, sugar on his tongue or cock in his ass, the chemical pleasure has him working his hips faster, without rhythm.

“Fuck, _fuck_—you’re hitting my—”

“You like that? Like your cunt getting battered with this fat cock?”

“Yea—_aah_…”

It’s impossibly good, the over-stimulation, making him jolt and moan and squeeze around Kaito, the sound of the leather creaking beneath them. His eyes roll back, his hole spread and his back arched, as he continues to pleasure himself, impaling downwards, like Kaito’s nothing but a dildo.

Spikes of heat seemed to pool in his spine, his ass burning both from the cock and from the physical effort. It’s a good burn, though—satisfying, like after a long workout.

Without a single touch, his cock is spurting out over Kaito’s stomach. The entire time, Kaito’s been leaning back like some CEO being read his net worth, looking smug and powerful. Having a guy like Sugiura bounce on your dick will do that to you.

That smugness doesn’t change when his eyes fall to look at the sticky, pearly semen stringing against his heaving abdominal muscles.

Hilariously, it’s the sight of _himself_ covered in cum that gets him off.

_I’m a slut too_, he thinks, incredulously.

Or maybe it’s the fact that his own immaculate body—if you’ll allow him to be so narcissistic—has an equally beautiful man tied up over it, getting off from it, and now leaning against it with deep, coughing inhales. Either way, his cock twitches in that still-tight hole as he creams him, filling his cunt up thoroughly. He seals his eyes shut and buries his moan in the sweat-slick curve of Sugiura’s pale neck. He tastes like freshly minted coins and salt. Metallic.

He can feel it dripping out, down his balls. Like after a jerk off session, where he’s too lazy to wipe himself off.

God, he’s probably broken poor Sugiura’s fever.

After they rest against each other for a while, panting and slipping against one another, Sugiura arches up for a kiss.

Kaito turns his head.

“No fucking way.”

For a second, Sugiura looks hurt, before he swallows a glob of phlegm and realizes why Kaito’s refusing to give him a smooch.

He grins, arching his neck.

“Gimme a kiss!” he purrs. “Let me give you my Ebola.”

“Stop it,” Kaito laughs, and picks him up to rest him on the couch rather than his lap. He walks to the coffee table and picks up his phone. With sweaty hands, leaving greasy marks on the screen, he manages to pull open his camera.

Pushing Sugiura’s knees back, still bound by the rope, he points the lens at his open, drooling asshole. He’s leaking a virile amount of cum. It drips onto the couch in slow, syrupy drops. Like spilled honey.

“Loaded you up good, huh? Gonna show Yagami-san that little hole.”

“_Oh_,” Sugiura blushes. Kaito snaps a pic. One close. Then he takes another, further back, so Yagami can see their boy’s sakura-petal face and bound limbs. He sends both.

As he’s untying Sugiura, his phone vibrates.

**[ Yagami – 11:14 PM ]** God DAMN, dude!!! Holy shit!!!

**[ Yagami – 11: 14 PM ]** He looks so good. You really stuffed him. Definitely gonna j/o to this later. But I see that on my couch. Why don’t you clean up your mess?

Kaito snickers, shows Sugiura the texts.

Sugiura spreads his now-freed, pink-ringed legs and flexes his hole, a fat rope of cum crawling out. “Yeah, Kaito,” he looks pointedly at his mouth, “Why don’t you clean your mess?”

Kaito grins, holds him by his thighs, and goes down on him. Sealing his lips around his hole once more, he sucks and swallows. He’s tasted himself before—courtesy of Yagami’s gross, after-blowjob kisses—but this is different. The taste of himself and the pure essence of Sugiura, who tastes sweet, clean, like he took a long shower just for him…

He could go another round. Sugiura lets out one soft, whispery moan. His hole seems to be fluttering of its own accord, pliable under Kaito’s talented, prying tongue.

But when he pulls off, his swollen, tiredly winking hole as clean as he can get it, he looks up at Sugiura. He has his eyes closed; his mouth parted. He takes in sleepy, short inhales, and rests his long, unbound leg against Kaito’s shoulder.

Kaito smiles and kisses the inside of his thigh.

When Yagami comes back to his office, he finds the couple slouching closely on the couch, naked and worn out, very cute.

But he finds it much less cute when he has to nurse two dipshits with the flu for the next week.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry for the weird pacing thank u for reading i packed lunch for u have a good day at school mwah mwah
> 
> both chapters were commissions so i hope you enjoyed them!! ;w;
> 
> [take my carrd](https://bibles.carrd.co/)


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